Liberté for the Soul
by relievedseriousness
Summary: What if the man that comforted Eponine wasn't Marius? What if it was the serious revolutionary leader, Enjolras? Once again, Eponine is wishing for something she can't completely picture and Enjolras finds himself in a battle that is much different from the barricade. AU that is Book/Movie based.
1. Chapter 1

** Author's note: Hello! This is my first fanfiction ever, so please review! My French is horrible, so please forgive me. This is an AU that has references from the book and is based off of the movie. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: As much fun I have obsessing over fictional characters, the characters in this story belong to Victor Hugo. This is to simply take my mind off of the fact that the book doesn't fulfill my needs as a fangirl.**

* * *

_**Liberté for the Soul**_

**by relievedseriousness**

* * *

_"A boy! Climbing the barricade!" someone shouted._

_Éponine hurried, not caring whether the voice came from a soldier of the National Guard or one of the students of Les Amis, and nearly misplacing her footing on the massive fort of furniture. She was dressed in ragged clothes made for a boy, with an old cap hiding her hair - the makeshift disguise. She had barely made it to the top when she saw the metal of a gun glint in the light of the sun, ready to bring down yet another revolutionary. Éponine would've turned cold and scurried on, had not the weapon been pointed at a certain man. Marius._

_Rushing forward, she pushed the gun toward her torso just before the trigger had been pulled. A forceful pain pierced her body, letting her enough stamina to crouch down next to an overturned sofa. Her dirty tangled locks tumbled from her head, the cap having fallen off during her descent. Blood poured out of Éponine's body, making her clutch her middle. Closing her eyes, she heard the sounds of guns and shouts. Then it became quieter. She could feel her mind and senses fading; she no longer recognized anyone. Ah, Éponine thought. At last, I am dying. But where is he, my Marius?_

_"Éponine? By God, what are you doing here?" a voice asked._

_"Marius? Is that you?"_

_There was a split second of silence before a response came._

_"You may assume that. Now, let me help you with your wounds."_

_Éponine considered the reply strange, but she was completely reassured that it was him. No one would care more about her than anyone else. "No, monsieur. It is fine. I don't feel any pain. Just hold me now, and let it be."_

_Strong arms wrapped around Éponine's body, though slightly hesitant. "But, Éponine, there's so much blood. You must get a doctor. Certainly before a cold takes you in this rain..."_

_She smiled, only now noticing the light shower coming down. "Please, Monsieur Marius. It's only a bit. A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now. You're here. That's all I need to know."_

_That breath of his hitched, and exhaled slowly. "Éponine, I am not..."_

_She shushed him by holding a hand up to his face, stroking the side of it. Éponine's smile then faltered, and the blackness consumed her._

Éponine woke up, her face misted with perspiration. She sat up with some trouble as her torso, was restricted by several bandages. She scratched her head, noticing how an itchy reply from her scalp never came, like it usually did. Éponine was, in a long time, clean, and in a cot in a room that was sparsely furnished - save for the cot and a chair. She looked around. The room seemed familiar.

"Awake?" a voice called out. Éponine saw a girl come in with a tray of hot water and bread.

"Musichetta?" she asked. The girl smiled and nodded. "You were set next to our door and was unconscious for a few days, but we got a friend of Joly's to look at your wounds. It'll take some time to heal, he said, but you'll be up and about before you should be, knowing you."

Éponine felt gratitude instantly, for Musichetta and her weren't exactly close. She had been introduced to her by Joly, of course, one night when she was waiting for Marius at the Café Musain. She had made acquaintances with all the men of the Les Amis, but Marius. He was the sole reason she was there in the first place.

"I-I don't know how to thank you, Musichetta. I am truly grateful. And, I'm sorry for your loss. Really."

The girl set her tray down. "Thank you, Éponine. I'm fine, it's just that, I am with child."

Éponine felt sorrow and sympathy hit her in the chest. She knew how Joly and Musichetta were wild over each other. It was certainly obvious. Joly talked about her every chance he got, despite the protests and groans he got from the other students. Musichetta, though more discreet, blushed every time Joly's name was ever mentioned. It was a fine sight, a student and his grisette. There were many times when Éponine could feel a wave of jealousy wash over her when she was watching the couple. She wished that, if only, Marius and herself would be the same way._ But you are just a gamine, Éponine, _she told herself. _A filthy, corrupted street urchin. He'll never see you that way._

"I'm truly sorry, Musichetta. Joly, he's with God now, but, he loved you more than any man ever will." Éponine told the girl.

"Thank you, Éponine. Now, let's get you some food. I know it's meager, but it'll have to do." She set to breaking the bread into small pieces.

Though Musichetta had stopped talking, Éponine could see the volumes of grief spoken by her grey eyes. She chewed her bread slowly, thinking about the barricade. She hardly remembered anything, just the bang of guns, the flash of the bayonets, and the men, soldier and student, crying for help. Then she was reminded of him.

"Musichetta, I don't want to seem nosy, but where is Monsieur Marius?"

The young mother-to-be cocked her head. "Hard to say. He could be lying in a hospital or a kind home, or probably dead. Last time I peeked out I saw him with an elderly gentleman."

Éponine nodded, murmured something, perhaps a thank you, and fell back in the cot, tired from waking up.

* * *

Enjolras sat up in his bed, allowing the doctor to check on his wounds once more. He was in a nightgown, and uncomfortable from the prodding of the doctor's fingers and utensils at his bare chest. From a few feet away, Marius watched.

"He's doing fine, my son. Considerably better than last week. The wounds will heal in a couple of months, hopefully, if there is no infection. You are lucky to have survived, son," Dr. Henri said directly to Enjolras. "Those gunshots had you hanging by a _fil_, and yet you are coming along better than I thought. They will leave scars though, as I have told you."

The revolutionary was no longer listening. His mind faded to the memories and the terrors of that fateful day, and the deaths that seemed inevitable on the night prior to the barricade, now are impossibly impossible._ Death's ever-moving laboratory_, Enjolras thought.

"Um, Dr. Henri? I suppose we leave Enjolras to rest now?" Marius asked, seeing his friend's current face expression.

"Ah, yes. I will be back next week, of course, but if you need anything, just send for me."

Marius nodded and called Nanette, the maid, to show the physician the door. Meanwhile, he crept over to Enjolras. "Alright?" he questioned softly.

Enjolras slightly dipped his head. "I am just tired. I'm fine." He sank back into the pillows and turned his back on the young man.

Marius sighed, and left the room, closing the door behind him. Enjolras fell deeper into his sleep, all the while asking himself, _What of my friends? My foolish actions that led them to their graves? And what of Marius' shadow? Have I deceived them all?_

Regret plunged thick into his veins, and he could not think anymore; not of the barricade, not of the friends that are gone, and certainly not about a young gamine as slumber swallowed his mind and soul.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Thank you to those who favorited, followed or reviewed! As always, any of those three are appreciated, especially reviews. I'd love to hear feedback.**

**This chapter is mostly Éponine, but there is some Enjolras stuff as well. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: As much fun I have obsessing over fictional characters, the characters in this story belong to Victor Hugo. This is to simply take my mind off of the fact that the book doesn't fulfill my needs as a fangirl.**

* * *

_**Liberté for the Soul**_

**by relievedseriousness**

* * *

For the next several weeks, Éponine stayed at Musichetta's garret, recovering from her injuries as well as helping Musichetta, or at least tried to, prepare for the baby. As street smart as Éponine was, she had little knowledge of how to ready for an infant. Knowing this, Musichetta's aunt Hettie came, hearing of her niece's dilemma. She came with a carpet bag of clothes made for a mother, bottles, and clean linen cloths. Then she set out and bought an old cradle of four francs, placing it in a corner of the room until it was to be used once more in eight months.

Éponine was stunned by the woman's presence, who had taken a peculiar liking to her. She seemed to be always kind and loving, unlike her mother, who adored her and her sister, Azelma, but grew colder and harsher as the years progressed, sometimes presenting them with slaps or blows. With the same, yet crueler treatment from her father piled on, it ultimately added to Éponine's immense infatuation with Marius.

Aunt Hettie, as both Musichetta and Éponine addressed the pleasant woman, was warm yet firm, always bustling around the small dwelling, cleaning and sweeping. She cared for her young niece, seeing to her sickness and nausea in the mornings, while also making sure Éponine's wounds were kept clean and uninfected.

With all the special attending to that Éponine thought was unnecessary, more guilt seeped through her, as she could really do nothing but stand by idly, sometimes helping with laundry or cleaning, but it would always result in Aunt Hettie showing her the "proper way" to do the task, to Éponine's slight humiliation.

When Joly's medical friend, Rique, declared her strong enough to go out, Éponine made plans to go and find work in the city. Though the majority of her life as a gamine was spent, of course, scrounging for scraps and money, she was able to read and write, and with her extensive knowledge of the Parisian streets and fast-acting intelligence, the only thing keeping her from getting hired for a respectable job was her father and her ever present state of filth.

The first obstacle was her attire. For the duration of her stay, Éponine was clothed in a nightgown of Musichetta's. Since she had dressed in boy's clothes for the barricade, the rags that she wore were discarded in her family's hovel in a pile somewhere. Now, Éponine was left with no presentable clothes, or for a woman looking for work, no clothes at all.

"Here, Éponine," said Musichetta, who was rummaging through her wardrobe. "This will fit well, I am hoping." She held up a dress, and helped Éponine into it.

It was a rather simple thing, really, but to the gamine, it was by far, the most extravagant garment that she had worn since her humored childhood. The dress itself was of plain linen in a light lavender color, with tight fitting sleeves. The bodice was at a modest length, the waist was cinched in comfortably, and the skirt fell down to Éponine's ankles. It hugged her curves attractively, while her tresses waved about her face in a calm manner. The girl stared in awe at herself when she saw her reflection in a shard of glass. She was, so it seemed, almost pretty, with only a few small cuts on her face marring the picture.

"Musichetta, are you sure you want me to wear this?" Éponine inquired tentatively. "You surely know how dirty the streets are!"

"Please, Éponine. You have to look presentable for work, right? It fits you perfectly, and you really have no choice. And you cannot expect me to wear it either." The woman gestured toward her growing belly. Éponine smiled, slipped on a shawl and an old but clean pair of boots.

"May we see you for supper!" Aunt Hettie called out of nowhere. "And keep your face clean. I'll have no street urchins at the table tonight!"

Éponine gave a little shock, and turned about and left. _Little she knows,_ she thought.

* * *

Enjolras ran a hand through his curls, his hair unkempt from the same action being repeated over and over again. He was in the massive library located in the Gillenormand estate, sitting in an armchair at a comfortable distance from the hearth. The works of Rousseau that sat on the table were long forgotten, as they lost the battle for Enjolras' attention to his plagued thoughts about the barricade.

Each day, the man found himself healing physically, as he was able to walk sufficiently without assistance; his wounds closing adequately. Enjolras' mind, however, suffered; every hour, nearly every minute, was spent thinking about the attacks, the deaths, and the companions that were no longer there. His mind wasn't as toned as it was before; fatigue clouded his instincts and took his appetite by storm. Peace was never a trait in the state of Enjolras' head.

"Hmmh." An aged voice muttered, pulling the revolutionary out of his speculations. "I'm glad to see you reading again, but the idea of such material..."

Enjolras turned around to face Monsieur Gillenormand, who was standing near the armchair. Enjolras sighed, and shifted his focus toward the elderly bourgeois.

"Yes, monsieur?"

"I have come to inform you about the certain matters concerning your record after your, affair."

The young man inwardly chuckled at this; France was his _maîtresse_, after all.

"What about it?"

"Since you were a disruptor of the public and law, you were sought for by the police after the fall of your fight. Few actually knew your name, so with a given sum and some favors from my connections, I was able to clear any sort of charges."

Enjolras was unsure of what to say. Gratitude and guilt underlain his conscience. "Monsieur, bribery?" he asked.

Monsieur Gillenormand nodded, looking unconcerned about the matter. "Fortunately for you, Inspector Javert is dead, and his replacements were more willing for pocket money than for justice."

Enjolras remembered the news of the policeman's body being found in the Seine River. Everyone knew it was suicide, just not the reason he committed such an act.

"Thank you for your deed, monsieur. It was, however, unnecessary and I am sorry if - "

"Nonsense!" the old man bellowed. "As stubbornly foolish you are about politics, there is no need for such apologies. You are just another grandson to me, whether you enjoy it or not."

Enjolras' mouth twitched, giving evidence of his contained laughter.

* * *

The light was fading fast, and Éponine still had yet to find employment. All day it was rejections, from the cafés to the laundresses. The economy was withering, and with little business, employers closed their openings. She rounded the corner, having been snubbed by a baker, and started walking down an alley.

The alley was a shortcut that Éponine knew well. But it was only then that the repulsiveness of the streets hit her with a jolt. Being kept inside for months guarded her from any seedy or revolting scenes; now, the loathsome wholeness was revealed to her once more.

The smell of the alley was putrid, the ground laden with garbage and mud. Éponine walked as fast as she can without attracting any attention. Few people were lying about here, but then again, they could be hiding in the shadows, cloaked by the darkness.

"Lookin' for some money, missy?" A rough man stood by, watching the girl's every move. "Your looks will earn you some pretty sums. Why go lookin' for boring work when you can make money in your sleep!" The pimp laughed, his foul breath reaching Éponine even from several feet away. "Come on, love, give it a go!"

But by this time Éponine had ran out of the alley, daring the dark memories of her past to stay in the scaffoldings of her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's** **note: I so sorry for the delay. Seriously. Schoolwork and procrastination (I have a Ph.D) is a ship that is horrifically canon.**

**Hope you like this chapter! Please review and enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: As much fun I have obsessing over fictional characters, the characters in this story belong to Victor Hugo. This is to simply take my mind off of the fact that the book doesn't fulfill my needs as a fangirl.**

* * *

**Libertè for the Soul**

**by relievedseriousness**

* * *

Éponine scanned her eyes among the market crowd, hoping to find the man that had struck her thoughts for so many days and nights. _This is so foolish,_ she thought._ He could be anywhere. Besides, he's probably in some mansion right now. But, he could be, maybe, perhaps..._

Éponine started running down the street, taking turns left and right haphazardly. She passed a familiar fish market and wine shop, which had been boarded up. And lo and behold, there it was. Éponine stood in front of a dilapidated building, scared yet determined. Could she face the terror and memories that the place held? Would that day wound her again? Éponine closed her eyes and pushed away whatever distressed thoughts she had in her mind. She inhaled deeply and stepped into Café Musain.

It was a shock, being inside the building. As the girl walked by, she could not help but forget her purpose. Everything, just reached to her and screamed the errors of pain that was wrought upon them. The walls, layered with yellowley paper, were stained with lashings of blood. The windows shattered, the floor covered with dust and glass. Bits of metal caught rays of the sunlight, setting themselves eerily aglow.

Éponine was sent into a panic, her head spinning. She couldn't breathe as sounds of cries for mercy echoed inside her and shook the human being on the outside. Within seconds, she rushed out of the café, hoping to escape that world of tortuous effects.

Éponine brushed the apparent tears from her eyes, taking heavy breaths. _For heaven's sake calm yourself!_ she inwardly shouted. _Such an idiot. Why_ _would Marius be in there?_ Her mind stormless now, Éponine decided to get back to the garret, for Aunt Hettie might be wanting an errand to be run. But also for the fact, that it might keep her thoughts from roaming back to the wretched hell.

Suddenly, she was shoved onto a street corner by a rough man. The wrinkled vegetables in a wheelbarrow he was pushing spilled onto the pavement. "Watch where yer goin'!" he yelled. "I can't afford to have you pushin' my things and goin' 'round like a little bit-"

"How dare you raise your voice and use such language around a lady!" someone interrupted.

Éponine gasped._ Could it be so?_ her mind asked hurriedly. Turning around, she saw where the owner of the intruding voice stood. There, was a man of reddish brown hair and eyes that she described long ago as "hopeful" and "passionate." Yes, it was like an angel's delight to the sight of Éponine.

_Marius._

"Never, should one use a voice for the dogs to a damsel who is strolling down peacefully, minding her business. Especially when that mademoiselle could not help it when she is rudely pushed aside by a boorish man such as you." Marius attacked the man with ferocity. A small crowd was beginning to form.

The man looked around, grumbled and hastily collected the fallen vegetables and took off down the street.

"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" Marius asked, not recognizing the stunned girl.

Éponine, despite everything, gave a small smile and managed a reply. "Monsieur Marius, you are always so kind."

The man's eyes widened. "Éponine, could it be?" Yes, she nodded.

"Thank God! You're alive! I thought I had lost you." he cried, astonished. "I could barely recognize you! With your new dress, clean face. A miracle, it all seems." Marius embraced her.

Éponine felt as if the sun had given her a blanket of undying warmth. Even with his comments that always seem a bit condescending and untactful, she was never sorry to see him.

"You must tell me everything. How you survived, how did you get here, simply. Come, let us go to the café two blocks away and talk inside there."

Éponine wanted so badly to take the offer, but she had no money. Marius though, had no time to wait out as he pulled the young woman through the streets by the hand._ His hand,_ Éponine thought in bewilderment._ Like the cloth of stars!_ Finally, they reached their destination. "Welcome to the Doux Paradis." Marius said.

They stood in front of the shop. Like any building now, it was a bit run down. Very run down, in this case. The exterior boards were cracking, the pillars seemed to tremble, the windows faded and scratched, the sign was rusted and its title seemed to be the very opposition of the shop. As they stepped inside though, it was a transformation of worlds.

Aromas of breads and pastries wafted themselves to their noses, tempting them to the fullest. Coffee was brewing, tea tins were lined on the shelves behind the counter. Several tables invited people to sit and chat. That was not all. Behind the glass of the display case, sweets of all kinds sat on napkins, showing off their delicious appearances and daring all to try their heavenly taste. Yes, it was sweet paradise._ So bright. Must be a bourgeois place._

Marius stepped up to order, calling for two coffees and a croissant. "And your choice Éponine?" he inquired.

Éponine looked at all the baked goods. How could she possibly pick one? One particular pastry however, caught her eye. It was a tart. "That one?" was her response. It sounded as if she was unsure. She was a bit, as she had never in her life eaten such food of grandiose.

"Very well. One of the tarts on the middle left, please." Marius said. They sat down once their order was ready, and took some time to sip their coffee and indulge. Éponine bit into her ordered confection.

The tart pastry itself was flaky and crumbly, its color baked to a golden hue. The center held rich marron, chestnut cream, accented by bits of bitter chocolate sprinkled in between, with a raspberry to top the creation.

_This is absolute heaven, _Éponine thought. But as magnificent as the dessert was, it was exotic to the girl's tongue, who had tasted nothing sweet ever save for the times she and her sister sneaked pieces of waxy candy from the ancient candy shop owner back in Montfermeil.

"Éponine, I implore you to tell me your tale of survival." Marius said with a hint of curiosity. "If you don't mind, of course."

Éponine smiled gently, not sure about how to address this topic. She began slowly, telling him how after she was wounded, a kind man comforted her and most probably carried her to safety, next to Musichetta's door, where they found her.

She was sure to put a slight emphasis on "a kind man," knowing Marius would certainly know who she was talking about. But her expectations were dissolved when Marius asked, "Who was this kind stranger?"

Hurt mixed with sudden uncertainty. "Marius, don't you remember? You, yourself, monsieur, carried me out of danger. Surely...?"

Marius shook his head with a small sigh. "I'm very sorry 'Ponine. I'm afraid I am not the man you talk of. "

Éponine was in a stupor. All these months, she was imagining and replaying of what she remembered of that day when he comforted her. The warm, strong arms that seemed to keep all peril away, the aberrant words spoken to her in a breathless voice...the perplexing thought that she had seen blue eyes instead of Marius' cool, hazel irises. But now - could it be? An actual stranger that was benevolent enough to save her from the formidable barricade?

Éponine could not believe this realization. But, surprise news or not, Marius was content to continue proper conversation. "'Ponine?" he asked. "Are you ill?"

The girl shook out of her daze and replied, "No, I am fine monsieur. Please, it's your turn now to tell your story."

Marius readily complied, and began. "I was wounded during the second battle, being shot in the arm and my leg wounded. An elderly gentleman rescued me and took me to the hospital, where I resided for a month. Did you know, 'Ponine?" his voice suddenly changing to a more excited tone. "Did you know?"

Éponine shook her head. "I'm sorry?" she said. Whatever could he be talking about?

The man seem to get more and more energetic in the confinements of his seat. "'Ponine, do you remember dear Cosette, my lovely Cosette with the beautiful golden locks and sweet face?"

His companion nodded, who was at a loss for words._ No, not her again,_ she sadly thought.

Marius leaned closer, as though there was a secret that cannot be held if he was to sit back too far. His eyes were brimming with elation, he announced:

"I am engaged."

Éponine drifted into a state of nothingness. She could not breathe, she could only stare at the man who had broken her heart endlessly with a limitless count. She wanted desperately to run out, sobbing and never face humanity again. But Éponine found herself in a foreign place, where no gamine should ever step into.

She jolted out of her chair, standing up with sudden haste. "Thank you monsieur, for your, your generosity, but the light is fading fast, I must go home."

Marius stood up as well. "I can walk you home, 'Ponine, it's safer."

Éponine laughed uneasily. "Monsieur, you will be the death of me."

She swiftly ushered herself out the door, leaving Marius confused as always.

_He was never mine to lose,_ Éponine thought, a tear slipping down her cheek. _You foolish little corrupted gamine. A miracle indeed._

* * *

Enjolras was sitting in the parlor, trying to concentrate on the faults of Louis XVI when Marius came in, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Hello Enjolras."

"Hello. May I inquire where you have gone for the past hour?"

"Doux Paradis."

Enjolras grimaced. The shop was well known among the bourgeois, but he never liked the overpriced, fanciful sweets they made. Or the woman working behind the counter that gave him an unnecessary flirtatious eye each time he was ever there. To him, it was sweet hell, really.

"With whom? Yourself?"

His friend put a hand to his forehead. "I bumped into Éponine today. Can you believe it? She's alive, in all of this mess. You remember her, do you not?"

The young man's composure stayed calm, despite the unwreathing turmoil he had inside.

_Of course I remember her. How can I not?_

"Yes - the girl who always followed you around?"

"Yes, yes - well today I met her again and we went to the café. She told me about how she managed to get away from harm. A stranger, she said, carried her and tucked her away near, Musichetta, I think, her door."

Enjolras was reminded instantly of Joly.

"And?"

"She said that they took her in. But then after, she, 'Ponine, hinted at the possibility that_ I_ was the stranger. I told her I had no remembrance of it. She must have forgotten exactly what had happened after she fell unconscious."

An odd spasm of mixed feelings hit Enjolras. Anger, grief, a drop of jealousy were the elements of the product. "Continue," he muttered.

"Well, then she asked to hear about my tale, and I told her. She seemed a bit intrigued, until I told her about the engagement between Cosette and I, and, quite truthfully, she stormed out!"

More anger brushed over Enjolras' mind. "Whatever were you thinking, Marius! Are you a madman to tell that girl of such a thing?" he nearly growled.

Marius looked, once again, befuddled in his own merit. "Wouldn't I? Why wouldn't I share a piece of wonderful news to one of my best friends?"

"If you were ever her friend, you would know of matters like this would incite her to run out! You, my friend, are oblivious to those who are in need actual comfort."

That day, Marius witnessed two people desert his presence. The latter was a revolutionary.

* * *

Enjolras could not understand the utter stupidity of the man he just spoke with. How can Marius not see the equation of it, why Éponine ran out of that café? Did Marius never see the looks she gave him back in those days? Enjolras shivered for no reason at all.

_Éponine!_

There was a time, when Enjolras had, what he said was, a short fixation on the young gamine. He never told anyone of this, of course. He was careful about his feelings, always sure to keep them in check. But he was stirred by her hardiness, her intelligence, her quick wits, that little smile that was never directed toward him...

Each night, a few glances were cast at her, sometimes prolonging into stares. Éponine never noticed, and Enjolras didn't think any of the boys did, until one night a half-drunk Grantaire sauntered over to him and whispered, 'Got a crush on Marius' shadow, don't you, Apollo?'

Since then, the revolutionary obliterated any feelings he felt about Éponine, instead focusing on bettering the lives of the impoverished. Instead, he lead an unsuccessful revolt. Enjolras' mind now located itself into a whirlpool of emotions._ No, just looking at her was enough. No more. Extinguish everything._

But his blue eyes said otherwise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: Well I promised myself I would update earlier, obviously that didn't work. But the end of the school year is almost here, so there's still hope!**

**Did anyone freak out over today, June 5th? Anyone? Well, it seems that I was the only one who was really super excited over this. I need more Les Mis buddies.**

**PLEASE REVIEW. I'm dying here.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: As much fun I have obsessing over fictional characters, the characters in this story belong to Victor Hugo. This is to simply take my mind off of the fact that the book doesn't fulfill my needs as a fangirl.**

* * *

**Liberté for the Soul**

**by relievedseriousness**

* * *

_Éponine gazed at her surroundings. She was at her father's inn in Montfermeil. _But how could it be?_ she thought. She was not a girl of eight, but seventeen, as she was now, in reality. She wore the same rags as she did in Paris. So really, how could it be possible? The girl looked around._

_The inn was a dirty structure, and the inside boasted of garishly bright colors that were ungracefully thrown about. Figures of faceless people dashed here and there, ignoring Éponine completely._

_Suddenly, though, a young man stepped into the inn, and headed not to her father, but straight for her. As he came closer, Éponine could see his face. It was Marius, dressed in a boyish fashion. He kneeled in front of her, and asked, in an almost desperate voice, "Will you marry me?"_

_Éponine was rushed into a feeling of joy; she was in euphoria. "Yes! Yes, Marius, I will marry you." she nearly cried._

_Marius smiled, it almost seemed to break his face. "Good. Now, you need to be dressed properly." He took her hand, and they were whisked away by a shot of blinding light._

_Éponine looked around, and found herself a small chamber. It was the most luxurious room she'd ever seen. The walls were lined with light blue silk, the furniture of mahogany, and everything was trimmed with satin._

Where exactly am I?_ she wondered. She turned around, and saw Marius clothed in a dapper black suit. His cravat tied elegantly, he said, "You must prepare for the ceremony! We are to be married in moments! Close your eyes. A servant will help you."_

_She obliged, and shut her eyelids. Éponine heard a rustle of fabric, and muted whispers._

_"Alright, now open your eyes." She did as she was told. Éponine looked down. The dirt-matted things she had for clothes were replaced with an ice-white wedding dress of taffeta. She stretched out her foot, and saw that her shoes, were of the daintiest slippers that were embroidered with gold thread. Éponine felt her head. The girl's hair was in an extravagant bun, with white ribbons and flowers braided in. _Amazing,_ Éponine thought._

_Marius then guided her to a floor length mirror. "Here's a better look of yourself. Aren't you a lovely sight now?"_

_The mirror showed exactly the same attire, but it held a completely different picture that left Éponine in shock._

_It seemed, she now had a fair face. Her chestnut locks were now replaced with golden curls._

_When Éponine looked up into her reflection, her gaze was met with blue eyes._

_She had been turned into Cosette._

_Marius stared at the mirror with a satisfied expression. "Ah - _now_ you look perfect. Now you will be ready, my street urchin." He started laughing in an uncontrollable manner, mocking Éponine as the mirror shook and finally shattered into a thousand pieces._

Éponine awoke with a jolt. She surveyed the room wildly to be sure she wasn't lost in the silken nightmare she had just bared. _It was just a dream, Éponine. Wasn't real at all._

She was reassuring herself, trying to calm down. _Just a dream, a silly broken dream. Besides, in no world would Marius ever marry you. There is always Cosette there. He was never mine to lose._

Tears pricked at her eyes as the thought struck her with a horrendous blow. Éponine tried to keep them in place, but all efforts failed as the salty droplets dripped slowly one by one from her eyes before giving way to an entire river.

She tried to sob quietly, not noticing Aunt Hettie coming into the room. "Dear Éponine. I knew something was troubling you. Talk to me," she said softly.

The girl shook her head and wiped away the remaining tears. "I am fine," she said, her voice slightly shaky. "I just, needed to relieve myself for a moment."

Aunt Hettie sighed, but didn't meddle. "Very well. If you aren't going to lay around all day, languishing on your pallet, then could you please go to the apothecary to get some, um, tea leaves, for treating morning sickness. The address is 685, Rue Couteau. Between the docks and the vegetable market."

Éponine nodded hesitantly. The name of the street was unfamiliar to her, which was surprising, as her knowledge of the city's routeways were far more advanced than a native Parisian. There was also the fact that Musichetta was beyond the stage of such nausea. "Alright," she said. She stood up and got dressed. As she made her way to the door however, Aunt Hettie began shifting uncomfortably. "Wait," she faintly exclaimed.

Éponine stopped on the threshold, holding her shawl tightly in anticipation for a potential errand. Aunt Hettie came up, grabbed the gamine and held her in a constricting manner.

"Be careful," the woman murmured, her usual cheerful voice gone, substituted by a wobbly tone. "I'm sorry about this. I'm sorry. Take good care, you hear?" Éponine vaguely nodded, and Aunt Hettie spun around and went into the other room, to check on Musichetta, Éponine presumed.

The girl was bewildered at the episode that just happened. It was rather strange for the usually merry woman to act in such a saddening way. She supposed she should follow her and attempt to comfort her, but she didn't want to intrude in on whatever personal matter was going on.

Éponine took a deep breath and stepped out to carry her task.

* * *

He was having a dream, he knew it. But he chose to wander into it anyhow.

_There was red everywhere. It was like drowning in blackness and blood. Everyone was shouting, but Enjolras couldn't hear anything. It all seemed muted, but was growing louder by the minute. Soldier fought student, bayonets clashed with rifles and guns. The mounting noise operated the booms of the cannons, signaling pieces of furniture to fly into splinters. He was holding a gun, shooting at a National Guard._

_Then suddenly he was holding Éponine, her torso wounded. But her body was stiff, and as Enjolras glanced down, he saw her talking very fast. She was yelling at him, shouting about how dare he destroy the lives of the men, how dare he hold her. How dare he take her brother away._

_At that moment, Gavroche collapsed in front of them, causing Courfeyrac to sob and shake the little body, trying to bring the gamin back to life._

_And they were all abruptly yelling at him, lamenting to him about pain and the stupid miscalculations he made. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Joly, Bossuet, Jehan, Feuilly, Bahorel, Grantaire, Éponine..._

"Enjolras!"

He opened his eyes with a jerk, and swiveled his head to take in his actual settings. He was in his room, lying in his bed. The voice came from Marius, who was standing a foot away from the door, fully clad in his nightclothes, though thankfully with a robe draped on. "Are you alright?" the young man asked.

"Fine, yes, fine. Why are you in my room, and at night?" Enjolras questioned, noticing the moonlight seeping through his windowpane and puddling on the floorboards.

"Well, you were slightly, um, loud, while sleeping, I could hear you across the hall..."

"That is not a legitimate reason to barge into my room. Especially at night."

"But I did knock, Enjolras, I swear!"

Enjolras sighed. "Just go back to your room, Marius."

Once Marius left the room, Enjolras could finally release the pressuring anger and remorse he had inside of him.

_So oblivious and childish at times. But if it weren't for him...I wouldn't have met Ép - no, no._

He fell asleep scolding himself about something he wouldn't be able to control.

* * *

Éponine had walked down over ten alleys by now, but still there was no sign of the street she was assigned to go to._ Rue Couteau, Rue Couteau. Out of all the apothecaries in Paris she chose this one._

She had passed the market by now, and was almost at the docks and was about to turn back. She did so, but not before noticing a strange figment of a shadow leaning against a brick wall near her. Éponine decided to go another route, lest to avoid whatever being that was lurking.

She went down a small passage, expecting nothing more from the mysterious person. She was wrong, as the shadow seemed to immediately follow her when she moved, making their movements as discreet as possible.

_What is happening? Please, don't tell me it's one of them..._

She was thinking of all those men, ghastly in nature, who had forced themselves upon her. Without hesitation, without care for the woman who was trembling within. And then there were those times - her father - why she turned back before she reached the docks...

Éponine rounded yet another corner, trying to lose the stalker in the twisting turns of the cobblestone streets. But to no avail.

She went into a dilapidated building as quick as she could, hoping that the person would go straight ahead. She was halfway in the empty room when the shadow grabbed her arm.

Éponine was dragged out of the building. Before she could scream, a callused hand covered her mouth, ensuring no sound can effuse. She was pushed into a nearby corner, trapped.

The being stepped back slowly. Éponine could see that it was a man, dressed in fine clothes that looked bourgeois, yet rough around the edges. Tied to his belt was a knife, glinting with its polished blade. The face was surrounded by a darkness that Éponine thought was like smoke, evading its pursuers and catching the coveted prey.

The street's shadows finally relented, and uncovered the man. The face, now fully illuminated with moonlight, was clearly visible to Éponine's eyes. It was the devil's rescued orphan.

_Montparnasse._


End file.
